


Roots

by Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Fluff, M/M, The Witcher Secret Santa 2020, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28273341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/pseuds/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum
Summary: It should have been a straightforward hunt. Missing villagers, strange noises from the forest; it was nothing Geralt hadn’t faced before. Waking up to find himself underground, with a cracked skull and twisting roots holding him in place, however, it was safe to say this was going to be anything but straightforward.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 172
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	Roots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghostinthelibrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostinthelibrary/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: 'Either Jaskier or Geralt is kidnapped to be sacrificed to some monster and the other one has to come to the rescue. Whump with a happy ending, pining, and feelings realizations would be an added bonus :)'

The third time he found himself face to face with the same gnarled tree blocking his way, Geralt frowned. He was beginning to suspect the reason travellers through the area had been disappearing was because they were simply getting lost in the fucking woods. On either side the trees and undergrowth were too dense to pick his way through; the only path the one at his back.

"Fuck," he said to himself. He'd be lucky if he found a way through the trees, let alone whatever monster the villagers were convinced lurked within them. He closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the forest sharpen around him.

Somewhere nearby, a twig snapped.

Geralt's eyes opened. "I told you to wait in the village."

"How did you know it was me?" said Jaskier. More rustling sounds and muttered curses followed as he stepped closer, though Geralt didn't bother turning to face him. He was still trying to orient himself — though he couldn't have been that badly lost if Jaskier had managed to catch up with him. Geralt had probably taken the same wrong turn and circled back on himself each time.

That didn't explain how he'd found himself in a dead end this time, though.

"I always know when it's you."

"Oh, I'm sure. You know, Geralt, I'd wager you've been out here all evening accusing each gust of wind or passing deer of being me, haven't you?"

"I know when it's you," said Geralt, "because of those stinking oils you douse yourself in." He glanced back towards Jaskier then, unable to keep the grin from his face.

In all honesty, Geralt didn't really mind them. Over the years Jaskier seemed to have learnt which scents prompted the most complaints from Geralt and steered clear of them. It was only when he would return from a hunt still suffering the effects of his potions that even the subtler fragrances Jaskier favoured these days were too overwhelming for Geralt's heightened senses, and Jaskier was quick to give him the space he needed on those rare occasions. Geralt didn't tell him that the assault on his senses was worth it for the comfort Jaskier's company brought him.

Jaskier's eyes flashed, and he raised an accusatory finger in response. "I don't think you're in any position to criticise other people's odours, considering how often you reek of bloody horse. And you'll notice that, as a friend, I'm too polite to mention it."

"You mention it constantly."

"Yes, well, it is quite a stench, Geralt."

Geralt hummed, and turned back to the trees blocking the path. The woods were an impenetrable black beyond them.

He thought of Alleyne, the village elder, and her tale of townsfolk hearing strange noises in the night coming from the direction of the forest. Of how the villagers had stopped venturing into the trees decades ago after too many people failed to return. Even without hearing the cries, he could see why people would fear to approach.

What he didn't understand was why, after being raised on stories of monsters lurking in the forest, the girl Illysa would choose to set foot out here now. If she actually had, that was. Her sister had been sure that was the only explanation for her disappearance. Geralt still wasn't convinced the girl hadn't simply stolen away, tempted by the prospect of a better life than the one she'd find in a sleepy hamlet like this one.

But coin was coin, after all. And it had been proving hard to come by of late.

"What do you think is out here?" said Jaskier.

"I don't know."

"But you have some theories?"

"A few. I'd need to find the bodies to know more."

"Right," said Jaskier. "Are you, uh, expecting to find much left?"

"Depends what it was that took them," said Geralt.

Of course, it could be there were no bodies to be found; that the travellers passing through the village had simply upped and left without a word, and the superstitious villagers had attributed it to the mysterious creature they had decided stalked nearby. That would have been the better outcome for the town, though not for Geralt's purse.

"You should head back to the village."

Jaskier hesitated for a moment, as if he was considering protesting against Geralt leaving him behind again, or arguing that he was in need of inspiration. In a village this small there wasn't likely to be much else to occupy him to satisfy Jaskier's constant need for stimulation. "Geralt," he said in the end. Another pause, and Geralt looked back at him with a frown. "Be careful."

He nodded.

The crackling of dry leaves and twigs faded away with Jaskier's steps, and Geralt watched until the rich jade of Jaskier's doublet had been swallowed up by the darkness. Whether Jaskier believed it or not, he'd be happier in the village than out here in the cold with Geralt. Geralt had spent the afternoon watching him charm Illysa's sister without even trying, and despite her distress over the girl's whereabouts, she had clearly been receptive to Jaskier's warmth and easy geniality. She would find comfort in him tonight, and it would keep Jaskier distracted from worrying about Geralt. It was better for all of them this way, yet something still gnawed beneath Geralt's skin at the thought.

Geralt didn't let himself dwell on it. He had more pressing matters to attend to. Before he could turn and try to find his way through the woods, however, there was a sound at his back.

With a sharp crack pain blossomed across Geralt's skull. He was only vaguely aware of the ground rushing up to meet him, and then there was nothing.

The pain was the first thing he noticed when he regained consciousness, soon followed by the musty stench of mildew and decay, strong enough to choke on. Even the sharp, metallic tang of blood — his own, he knew; he could feel it matted into his hair at the back of his head — couldn't compete. All around him, the air was too close against his skin, damp and stale and pungent.

He forced his eyes open.

He was somewhere underground, that much was certain. Light barely penetrated the space, as if the air was too thick for it to pass through, but even in the gloom Geralt could make out the rough shape of the room, crudely carved out of the earth, the ceiling stretching up high over his head as if the chamber had been burrowed out by something far larger than man.

Well. At least he probably wouldn't have to go traipsing through the woods to find the creature he'd been tasked with hunting.

Geralt frowned at that thought. He'd been hit with something dull, something heavy; a thick tree branch would be his best guess. In his experience, monsters were more than capable of incapacitating their prey without the use of a weapon. And they certainly didn't take the time to restrain them before returning to finish the job.

He twisted to look up at the bindings keeping his wrists suspended above his head. Tree roots, creeping out of the earthen wall at his back to wrap tight around his wrists before burrowing out of sight again. He gave a firm, sharp tug. It should have been more than enough to snap through the roots.

They held fast.

He tried to cast Igni and burn his way through the restraints. It didn't summon so much as a spark. The roots seemed to squeeze tighter in response, rough bark scratching against his skin, until Geralt winced and his fingers began to numb. Enchanted, then.

Whatever was out here in the woods, it wasn't likely to be a run-of-the-mill monster.

"Fuck," said Geralt.

Geralt wrestled with the restraints until he was aching and exhausted, and finally he slumped back in defeat. Looking up, he could see now where the light was breaking through into the cavern: a narrow crevice high overhead, a sliver of bright blue skies visible through it. He'd been down here for hours, then — though he had no way to be sure exactly how long since he'd set off the night before.

Jaskier would be frantic by now.

If he had made it back to the village at all. Jaskier hadn't been that far beyond the tree line when Geralt had lost consciousness. Whatever had been lurking in the woods would have surely seen the two of them together, would have reason to believe Jaskier might come looking for Geralt when he didn't return. If they had managed to take Geralt down, Jaskier would pose no challenge whatsoever…

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut as he fought to smother that thought before the nausea it summoned could overwhelm him. _No_. He had watched Jaskier walk away, towards the safety of the village. Whoever — whatever — had attacked Geralt would surely not want to risk detection by pursuing Jaskier out in the open like that. And hopefully, by some miracle, Jaskier would have the good sense to know that if Geralt didn't come back, the best thing he could do was turn and head as far in the opposite direction as he could get.

But Geralt didn't place enough trust in Jaskier's good sense to sit around and find out.

With fresh resolve Geralt wrenched at his wrists, his every ounce of energy focused on creating whatever weakness he could. If he could just wear away at the restraints little by little, it might be enough to give him some options. The roots squeezed unbearably tight at his wrists in response, as if in warning.

Geralt cursed again and threw himself back against the wall with enough force to feel the impact shudder down the length of his spine. Only then did the bindings release their vice-like hold. He wriggled the feeling back into his fingers and sighed.

It looked like he wasn't getting out of here on his own any time soon.

But whatever had dragged him down here would be back for him at some point. And whether they were going to eat him, kill him, or maybe just torture him for a while, they'd have to get close to him to do that.

Geralt was going to make them regret it.

Decades of hunting had taught him patience more than anything else. All he could do now was wait.

Despite the opening to the world outside high above, there was an eerie, muffled kind of silence in the cavern, like all sound had been smothered away before it could penetrate the earth. Geralt studied the space while he waited for his captors to return. There wasn't much in the chamber itself that he could use to fight them off — unfortunate, since there was no sign of his swords anywhere around him either — but then, he had faced worse odds and survived. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been caught without a weapon.

On the far side of the cavern, almost hidden behind a tall outcrop of rock, there was a break in the earthen walls. It had to be a tunnel. Geralt could see no other way he could have been brought down here. No other way he could get back out.

Good. One exit meant there was only one entrance as well. They weren't going to sneak up on Geralt again.

Listening for the sound of an approach to break the long, lonely silence, he looked up to the small patch of sky overhead and watched the colours shift as time slipped away. He wondered what Jaskier was doing now. Hopefully he had spent the day curled up in someone else's bed, completely oblivious. Hopefully he wasn't out there looking for Geralt.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, for the next thing he knew he was being jolted awake by a sudden sound, too loud in the muted room. Footsteps, echoing off the stone in the tunnel. He opened his eyes to see the flickering of torchlight drawing closer.

A robed figure stepped into the chamber, a lantern held in one hand, the other clutching the dark shape of something Geralt couldn't make out. Geralt sat up straight, watching, waiting, as they crossed the space towards him. They stopped just out of reach.

The figure set down the lantern to lift the hood of their robes, and a shock of white hair tumbled free.

" _You_ ," said Geralt.

He should have fucking known.

Alleyne smiled back at him mildly, the deep lines around her eyes crinkling in a way that would have seemed warm under different circumstances. "Hello, witcher," she said. Her voice sounded stronger than it had when Geralt and Jaskier had first met her, the rasp of old age absent along with her hunched posture. The canny glint in her eyes that had so impressed Geralt at the time, though, that remained the same.

"What are you? A witch?"

She pulled a face at the suggestion. As if she was the injured party while Geralt was the one sat here captured and fucking bound.

"Nothing so unseemly," she said. "I'm a priestess."

Geralt dropped his head back against the wall. He could put the pieces together now; the people unfortunate enough to pass through the village, they hadn't simply continued on their journeys, nor fallen victim to some mysterious spectre in the woods. They had met the same fate Geralt now faced at Alleyne's hands.

Perhaps they had not even existed at all, and the whole story was nothing but a ruse to lure Geralt here. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Is there even a monster here?"

"He is not a monster," said Alleyne. There was an unnatural kind of light in her eyes that set Geralt's nerves on edge.

He'd seen that look in people before. It never ended well.

"He is a god," she went on. "And like all gods, he requires sacrifice. You should consider it a blessing; not only to become one with a higher being, but by doing so your life will see all of ours through the winter. Is that not the very purpose your kind was created for?"

Geralt gritted his teeth. "You're insane."

"I have never offered a witcher before," she said, as if she hadn't even heard him. "He will be well pleased."

"And the girl?" said Geralt. "Did you offer her up too?"

Alleyne's expression shifted then, jaw clenched and thin lips pursed as if she was holding herself firm against something. It was answer enough. "That was an unfortunate thing," she said tightly. "I had hoped she and her sister would be the ones to replace me when I'm gone." She paused, composing herself. With a steadying breath she looked back at Geralt. "But I do what I must."

She stepped closer, and Geralt could see what she held in her hands: a wooden dish, piled high with food. Geralt tried not to breathe it in as she set the plate down by his feet. He could already smell it: freshly baked bread and cooked meats, a smell more at home in the banquet halls Jaskier would drag him to on occasion than in a tiny village in the outskirts of nowhere; all the more enticing given how long it had been since he had last eaten. His stomach rumbled, despite himself.

"Eat," she said, and once again she was as the grandmotherly woman she had first appeared to be, setting bowls of warm stew down in front of them as they all sat around her table and refusing to say a word until they had tucked in. "It would be remiss of me to send you to the afterlife with an empty stomach."

Geralt waited until her steps had disappeared back down the tunnel, the flames licking out behind her. He kicked the plate across the chamber.

Slowly but surely, the moon climbed high overhead, and Geralt watched it reach its peak. It lined up with the crack in the cavern roof, a bright column of moonlight illuminating the space to leave only the edges of the chamber in shadow. It was a detail Jaskier would find worthy of note; in his inevitable retelling of this little misadventure there would no doubt be at least half a verse dedicated to describing the way the dust floating in the air caught the light, or the way the shadows seemed even darker where they met the edge of the moonbeam. If Geralt ever made it out of here alive, he'd be sure to relay the scene to him.

He jolted at a sudden sound, the first Geralt had heard in hours. Groaning, from somewhere nearby — another chamber within the cave complex.

It sounded like a man.

Geralt's stomach dropped. "Jaskier?" he called. "Jaskier, is that you?"

There was no response, but as Geralt strained forward to try and hear more, there was a different sound: a slow, creaking thud, and another. It was the sound of something moving. Something big. Geralt's medallion began vibrating frantically against his chest.

"Oh, gods," the man cried, the voice too thick with fear for Geralt to recognise it. "Please, no — no—" The words were cut off by a scream.

Geralt yanked against his restraints as the screams continued, echoing off the walls, ringing through Geralt's ears. It was a gut-wrenching sound, made all the more painful by the fact that Geralt was powerless to do anything but sit and listen. Geralt forced himself to breathe through the cold panic threatening to build as he fought once again to escape; to try and shut out the increasingly wet sounding cries of agony overwhelming his senses, the growing stench of fresh blood.

He wasn't going to get free in time.

The room went silent too quickly, an awful emptiness in the cavern in the wake of the screams, until the creature's halting footsteps picked up again. Geralt braced himself, but the creature was moving away, back out into the forest.

He was alone again.

Time passed. Geralt's restraints still held.

In the end, he stopped fighting it. What was the point? He wasn't getting out of here. Wasn't really sure why he should care about that anymore.

If that really was Jaskier he'd heard…

Geralt shook his head. He couldn't fucking think. Couldn't rid himself of the image burning behind his eyes: Jaskier laying there in the dirt and the darkness, his bright doublet stained with blood. Geralt couldn't imagine a worse end for him.

But maybe he should have seen this coming. He'd learnt long enough ago that Jaskier was wholly incapable of heeding Geralt's commands to stay at a safe distance, more interested in capturing the details for his next song than his own self-preservation — and yet still Geralt had let him trail along. It had always been selfish of him, to put his desire for Jaskier's company above Jaskier's safety.

He slumped back against the wall, and didn't fight the hot tears spilling down his cheeks.

Alleyne returned after another interminable stretch, delivering a bowl of food to sit as untouched as the first. Geralt said nothing, didn't even look up at her, didn't listen to a word she said. He was going to kill her, if he managed to get out of here alive. That thought brought him some comfort, at least.

She'd not long crossed back into the tunnels when Geralt heard footsteps again. He frowned as the sound grew closer.

A shadow emerged in the entryway to the chamber, and then—

"Oh, thank fuck."

Geralt's breath left him in a rush. " _Jaskier_."

Jaskier surged across the room towards Geralt, and as he stepped into the moonlight Geralt took in the sight of him. He was in the same clothes he'd been wearing the last time Geralt had seen him, albeit in far worse condition: his doublet gone, his shirt and trousers grimy and torn, and in place of the lute so often slung over his shoulder was a sword. The other was clutched in his hands, ready to swing. Something tugged deep within Geralt's stomach at the sight.

He dropped to his knees in front of Geralt. Up close, he looked exhausted; the skin dark beneath his eyes and a healthy growth of stubble across his cheeks. Geralt wondered if he had actually slept since they had last seen one another.

"Are you hurt?" said Jaskier. He pressed a hand to Geralt's cheek as he looked him over, checking for injuries.

Geralt leaned into the touch without thinking. He knew it well enough to know every callus; to know it was really him and not just the fevered imaginings of his mind. Still, he tensed beneath his restraints with the need to press his own hands against Jaskier in return.

"No. Are those my swords?"

"Of course that's the first bloody question you ask."

Geralt couldn't help but smile. The warm relief flooding his body was enough to make him feel almost giddy. "How did you find me?" he said.

"Well, when you didn't come back, I headed out into the woods to where I'd last seen you. That's when I found your swords laying there and I knew something must have happened to you." His gaze turned from Geralt's face to the roots keeping his arms suspended.

"They're enchanted," explained Geralt, and with a nod Jaskier pulled out Geralt's silver sword and began cutting him free. Even then he had to saw at the roots to make any headway. A thick, stinking black ooze seeped out as the sword cut deeper.

"I spent days wandering through the forest trying to find you," he went on. "There's something strange about it, Geralt. It's like the trees move when you aren't looking."

"I know."

Jaskier had made enough leeway that Geralt was able to wrench his wrist free, and he flexed his fingers experimentally while Jaskier moved on to the other side. His entire arm tingled as the blood returned to his hand.

"Finally I saw a rather suspicious figure walking through the trees, and I thought, 'fuck it; I might as well follow them for a while.' Good job I did. They led me here."

"It's Alleyne," said Geralt.

"What?"

"The missing travellers. She's the one behind it."

Jaskier stopped hacking at Geralt's bindings to look back at him. "What is she?"

"A zealot, for the most part. Whatever this thing is, she's bringing it sacrifices." He paused. "There was someone else down here."

"Yeah, I found him." The look on his face said more than his words ever could. He shook his head as if to dislodge the gruesome memory, and returned to finish cutting Geralt loose.

"I was afraid it was you," said Geralt. He reached out now that he could, felt the solid warmth of Jaskier's body in front of him, the rough scratch of stubble beneath his palm. "That Alleyne had found you when she'd taken me."

Jaskier's expression melted into a soft smile. He pressed a hand to Geralt's cheek again. "I'm here."

"You're here."

Their hands lingered, but before Geralt could begin to examine the reason, Jaskier was pulling back, snapping out of whatever strange lull had settled over them both. "We should move," he said. "Alleyne is still down here somewhere. Can you walk?"

Geralt nodded. Jaskier was just reaching out to help him to his feet when Geralt's medallion hummed and shook, and he froze, senses sharpening. That familiar thudding sound echoed through the tunnels again. Geralt knew what came next.

Out of the darkness it lurched, steps slow, and as it unfolded itself to its full height its antlers cast branching shadows across the cavern. With empty eye sockets it looked down at Geralt.

"Fuck," he said.

"Geralt," breathed Jaskier, the sour stench of fear seeping into the air between them. "What is that?"

"A leshen." He'd never faced one himself before, but he'd heard stories from Vesemir — enough to know that even an experienced witcher would have difficulty killing one. The sound of the man's wretched screams from the night before echoed in his mind. "You need to run."

"What?"

Geralt was pushing past Jaskier, snatching up his swords as he climbed to his feet. "Go!"

"Fuck off; I'm not leaving you again."

He didn't have time to argue. Geralt charged across the cavern to meet the leshen before it could set its sights on Jaskier and determine which of them was the easier prey. Just as Geralt was close enough to swing his sword, however, the leshen was gone. He skidded to a stop.

"Behind you," shouted Jaskier, though Geralt didn't have time to react before he felt the blow land against his spine, hard enough to send him into the dirt with a grunt. He rolled with the impact and was back on his feet, turning to face the leshen again, swinging his sword against air as the creature winked out of sight once more.

He was going to run out of patience with this thing sooner rather than later.

There was a low growl from behind him, a sound like trees groaning in a storm, but Geralt was ready for it this time, diving out of the way before the leshen could strike. A slice of his sword made contact — not enough to make a difference. The leshen barely seemed to notice it.

It swept its arm in a backhand that had Geralt's head snapping back, hot blood streaming from his nose. If he'd been human, the blow would have killed him.

Geralt tightened his grip on his sword. Vesemir's tales swirled through his head, but before Geralt could parse through the details to try and remember the best ways to kill the creature, the leshen plunged its long, branchlike arms into the earth. Tree roots burst like hands through the cavern ceiling. Dirt and rocks showered down on them as the roots plummeted towards Geralt, and he dropped to the ground, out of reach. A desperate glance across the chamber in Jaskier's direction found him tucked behind a rocky protrusion, one arm over his head to shield against the debris still falling.

He should have used the leshen's focus on Geralt to make a run back to the tunnel and towards safety. Geralt knew he wouldn't.

The leshen straightened with another eerie growl and took a step towards Geralt. Geralt was on his feet to meet it before the next. He thrust out a hand, sparks erupting from his palm. They burned out into empty air as the leshen disappeared again.

"Fuck," Geralt panted. He looked around the cavern. "For an ancient, all-powerful being, you certainly like to hide," he shouted at nothing. It was a pointless taunt — somehow he doubted leshens were the type to respond to childish goading — but it made him feel a little better, at least.

There was a shift in the air, the kind that made Geralt's hair stand on end. The kind he was starting to recognise as the leshen's magic. He braced himself.

It wasn't enough.

The leshen appeared right in front of him and, too fast for Geralt to react, to even realise what was happening, it attacked. Enormous claws raked through his armour, through his skin, and Geralt was flung to the ground, pain searing across his stomach. The scent of fresh blood filled the air.

"Geralt!"

At the sound of Jaskier's panic-stricken voice Geralt forced his eyes open. He had to get up. Had to breathe through the pain, pick up his sword and fight before the leshen could turn on Jaskier instead. With difficulty he shifted onto his side, biting back a groan, to see the leshen thankfully still advancing on him.

Until a dark shape hurtled through the air and connected with a heavy thud against the creature's back. The rock clattered to the floor. "Oi!" Jaskier said. "Over here."

"Jaskier, stay back!" roared Geralt.

"You don't want to eat that one," he went on regardless. "Look at the amount of muscle on him; he'd be all gristle. Hardly a fitting meal for a… whatever the fuck you are."

Slowly — though still far too fast for Geralt's liking — the leshen turned to look at Jaskier. Geralt flung a hand out to grasp for his sword. The shock of the pain was wearing off enough that he could force his way through it. Not that it mattered if it wasn't, anyway. He didn't have another option.

"Yeah, that's right. I look delicious, don't I? Won't put up half as much of a fight, either. That's it; you're almost there. Just a few more steps 'til you can get that hideous mouth of yours on this tasty morsel."

Geralt was on his feet, however unsteadily, and he summoned every ounce of strength he could muster to cast a sign. It was enough to send the leshen tumbling across the room. Not with any real force — certainly not as much as it would have against any other creature — but it kept a little more distance between the leshen and Jaskier.

He raced towards it, plunging his sword through its back and deep into the earth beneath it, and staggered out of reach of its still swiping limbs. The leshen wasn't going to disappear this time.

Geralt held out a hand and cast Igni again.

The scream it gave shook the cavern, shrill enough to ring through Geralt's ears, and he winced at the sound. Thick smoke curled up towards the slice of moonlight overhead as the leshen burned.

Geralt's head swam, and he sank to his knees as his exhaustion caught up with him all in a rush. Jaskier was at his side within a heartbeat. It was too easy to let Jaskier take his weight, to feel him solid and sturdy beneath Geralt.

"That swipe looked bad," said Jaskier. His fingers curled at the shredded, wet front of Geralt's shirt.

"I'll be fine," said Geralt. He offered Jaskier what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Covered in blood and sweat and grime, it probably looked anything but. "Survived worse."

"I suppose you have." Jaskier looked back at him with an impish expression. "And at least I'll have a damned good song to write out of this one."

"I should have let it eat you."

In front of them the flames burned out as quickly as they had spread over the leshen's body, until all that was left were smoking remains and a stark white deer skull.

"Geralt," said Jaskier, "I never want to see another one of those things for as long as I live."

Geralt hummed. He was inclined to agree. He climbed to his feet, and immediately Jaskier tucked himself under Geralt's arm, one hand pressed tight against the wound on his stomach, the other a stabilising hold on his hip. It was… quite nice, actually. If not for the white hot pain and the blood still seeping from him, Geralt might have enjoyed it.

"We should leave," he said, but before either of them could take a step there was movement from the tunnel, and a rush of footsteps coming towards them.

" _No!_ " screamed a woman's voice, and they both turned to see Alleyne throw herself to the ground beside the charred remains of the leshen. "What have you done?"

"What you hired me to do."

She shook her head in disbelief, fingers tracing over the leshen's antlers. "You've ruined us." Angry tears glistened in her eyes as she glared up at him. "We will all starve because of you."

"No," said Geralt, "you won't. Your lives will go on as they have always done."

He looked at Alleyne still draped over the leshen, her body wracked with sobs. She seemed frailer, now, and as he watched her the hard kernel of anger he had felt towards her softened into something closer to pity.

"It's not a god. It doesn't care whether your people live or not, as long as you stay out of its way."

"And," said Jaskier, in a tone so obnoxiously bright it probably would have earned him a punch had Alleyne been within swinging distance, "as the White Wolf fulfilled his contract to investigate the disappearances in your lovely village, he will of course be demanding full payment for his services. We'll take it up with you in the morning."

He offered her a wide, wholly insincere smile in response to the scowl she levelled at him, and turned to lead them out of the cavern.

Geralt cursed when they set foot in the tunnel that led from it, branching off in all different directions; some delving deeper beneath the earth, others climbing steeply upwards. It looked like a fucking rabbit's warren. "Jaskier," he said, teeth gritted as another throb of pain had him almost doubling over, and Jaskier gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze at his side in response. "Please tell me you remember the way out."

Back in the hut that had been set aside for them during their stay, Geralt lay in his smalls on the bed as Jaskier cleaned his stomach, the smell of blood mingling with a pungent mix of healing herbs Jaskier had concocted. Geralt hadn't even needed to talk him through it, which was probably a testament to how many times they had ended up in this position over the years.

Through the window he could see the house Illysa had shared with her sister, Seren. Despite the late hour, the light of a single candle still burned inside. Geralt ached for the woman. It was hard enough to lose someone you cared about. To find out one of the people you trusted the most was to blame would be devastating.

"Do you want to be the one to tell Seren what happened to her sister?" said Geralt.

Jaskier looked up at him, brows knitted in confusion.

"You two seemed—" The word lodged in his throat for a moment. "—close."

"We did?" said Jaskier. He returned his attention to Geralt's stomach, hands gentle but steady as they began to stitch his wounds. "I didn't notice."

Of course he didn't. He never seemed to notice the way so many people's eyes followed him, hunger and desire in their gaze; didn't see how he could make people fall for him just by being himself. Not the way Geralt did.

"What do you think will happen here?"

"Nothing," Geralt said. "Their crops won't suddenly fail because there's no longer a fucking leshen attacking anyone who sets foot in its territory."

Jaskier laughed. The sound sparked something warm and fond in Geralt's chest. "You know, I'd not be surprised if Alleyne found some other beast lurking in the forest to worship instead," said Jaskier. His smile faded as a thought seemed to occur to him. "Do you think they’re all in on it?"

"I doubt it." He doubted any of the villagers would ever lay eyes on Alleyne again, either. Maybe it would be kinder to tell them she had fallen victim to the leshen as well, rather than let them find out the truth, but they had a right to know what had really been happening in their town. It would hurt, but it would be better for them in the long run.

Geralt watched as Jaskier finished patching him up with skilful fingers. He was too well-practiced at the task after so many nights spent just like this one, yet not once had he complained. He'd scold Geralt for being careless, or for something frivolous like getting blood on Jaskier's new shirt, but when it came down to it, he'd tend to Geralt's injuries without a moment's hesitation. Without Geralt even asking him to. Geralt still didn't know what he'd ever done to deserve it.

"I was worried about you," Geralt said. The words came out unbidden.

"You were bound up and about to be sacrificed to possibly the worst thing I've seen in a long, storied history of witnessing ungodly sights beyond the imagining, and you were worried about _me_?"

It sounded absurd when said aloud. Maybe it was absurd. But Geralt couldn't deny it.

"If anything happened to you, I'd…" He swallowed.

"What?"

Jaskier's hand was still resting on Geralt's chest. Geralt covered it with his own.

"I don't know what I'd do."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, either," said Jaskier.

Geralt pushed himself up, still clutching Jaskier's hand to him. He could feel Jaskier's heartbeat picking up as he met Geralt's eyes again. "Jask…" he said, leaning closer, breathing in Jaskier's scent, comforting and familiar.

He didn't need to say anything else. Jaskier's lips were on his.

It started out soft, hesitant on both their parts, and Jaskier made a muffled noise against Geralt's mouth, low and wanting and beautiful. It was enough to erase any lingering trace of uncertainty from the back of Geralt's mind. He deepened the kiss.

Jaskier responded just as eagerly, hands sliding into Geralt's hair — and, _oh_ , that felt good. Geralt couldn't help the growl that rumbled deep in his throat in response. He nipped at Jaskier's plump bottom lip, slipped his tongue against Jaskier's once again to savour the taste of him, let his hands clutch and roam over Jaskier's body. Gods, it felt so right to have him like this — like the warmth of Jaskier's body beneath his palms and his mouth on Geralt's was something he'd always known, always needed. His fingers curled at the hem of Jaskier's shirt, ready to tear it over his head and let his mouth stray lower.

"Mmph — Geralt," Jaskier spluttered, wrenching himself back from their kiss and keeping Geralt from resuming it with a surprisingly firm hand on his chest. "You're hurt."

"I don't care." He moved to seek Jaskier's lips again. Now that Geralt had tasted them, he didn't know how he could go without doing so again. He wanted to feel the scratch of Jaskier's stubble against his own; wanted Jaskier's hands to splay out over his skin; he wanted… he simply _wanted_ , with a fury that made his head spin. It was as if years of desire had come flooding out from somewhere so deeply buried within him he hadn't even been aware of it.

"Well I do," said Jaskier.

He was still panting, lips red and eyes dark with lust. Geralt had caught him in similar states too many times over the years, though knowing he was the cause of it now lit a spark of possessive need unlike anything he'd felt before. Especially when his gaze dropped lower to see the full extent of Jaskier's desire. His own cock gave another insistent twitch at the sight.

But rather than let his hands wander like he really wanted to, Geralt pressed his forehead to Jaskier's and took a breath to try and cool some of the fire in his veins. He could wait. They were in no rush, after all.

Jaskier brushed a hand over Geralt's cheek as he pressed another kiss to his lips — chaste this time, but filled with just as much desire. "You should rest."

Once the bloodstained rags and supplies had been cleared and Jaskier was finally done fussing over Geralt, he straightened to begin pulling off his own clothes. It was nothing Geralt hadn't seen before, yet he watched with newfound interest, and when Jaskier had blown out the candles and climbed under the bedclothes to join Geralt, just as he had countless times, the distance between their bodies now felt vast and unnavigable.

Geralt should have been exhausted. Both of them should. Yet as the minutes stretched on Geralt's eyes still refused to stay closed, and he lay there listening for the telltale shift in Jaskier's breathing that never came.

"Jaskier," said Geralt, his voice quiet, "are you still awake?"

"Yes. Are you?"

His lips twitched. "Yes."

The mattress dipped and sheets scratched against Geralt's skin as Jaskier shifted to face him. In the darkness he wouldn't be able to make out much of Geralt, but Geralt could see him; the cut of his jaw, roughened by the few days' growth of stubble; the inviting curve of his lips Geralt knew now to feel as soft as they looked; his piercing gaze, fixed firmly as ever on Geralt.

He'd found it stifling, once. Now he'd give anything to never be without it.

"I'm worried you won't want me in the morning," said Jaskier, candid in a way that wasn't like him, no rambling or flowery metaphors to mask the true meaning of his words.

The same doubt churned in Geralt's stomach, a greater discomfort than the skin trying to stitch itself back together. Jaskier was fuelled by passions, and there had been no shortage of such these last few days — would he still feel the same once his blood had cooled? Tonight might be Geralt's only chance to know Jaskier like this before he changed his mind. He didn't want to let it slip through his fingers.

But if Jaskier had mistaken his relief for desire, perhaps it would be best if Geralt pretended this thing between them had never happened; if he could keep the memory of Jaskier's lips tucked somewhere safe inside his heart and let any thought of having more fade with time. The idea brought a deep ache to his chest, overwhelming in its intensity. But he'd suffer it, if that was what Jaskier needed. He looked back at Jaskier.

"Will you still want me?" said Geralt.

Jaskier smiled. "My dear," he said, "I've wanted you for so long, I think I can manage a little longer."

Geralt reached out, pulling Jaskier to his side and brushing their lips together in a series of light kisses. He held him close when their mouths finally parted, and Jaskier settled to rest his head over Geralt's heart. "How long?" Geralt said into the comfortable silence stretching between them, his fingers trailing absently up and down Jaskier's flank.

"Forever, it feels like. You could have bloody told me you felt the same."

"Would have if I'd known."

Jaskier pressed a soft kiss to Geralt's chest. "You're an idiot, Geralt," he said fondly.

Geralt smiled in response. He held Jaskier tight, and closed his eyes to bring on the morning.


End file.
